happy."
Given what had happened in the Washington Hotel,
there was no disputing his point, although I had the sure feeling
that, like Del Cavanaugh, Ira Sullivan was one of those men who
wasn’t content unless everyone else in the world came down with it,
too. If he had it in his power, he would sow doubt like a plague.
"You asked me before, if I’d ever represented
him as a lawyer," Sullivan went on. "The answer is yes. Six
years ago when he was arrested."
"For soliciting."
"That was the charge," the man said,
looking back at me. "The actual crime, if you want to call it
that, was somewhat more complex. Mason took a personal interest in
one of his students. And the boy, who was eighteen years old at the
time, returned his affection. In spite of the fact that there was no
physical contact between them at any time, the boy’s father brought
charges of solicitation and indecent carriage."
"The charges were dropped?"
"Not dropped, but substantially reduced. Mason
was ordered into mandatory counseling. It would have been much worse
if the police department had prevailed upon the boy to testify. But,
of course, there was nothing to testify about. They had never been
intimate. They had only been friends. The sole evidence in the case
was some letters Mason had written, expressing his compassion for the
young man, who was then having a hard time in his life. The father
found them and assumed the worst. Mason’s real crime was showing
bad judgment. In spite of a massive letter-writing campaign, which I
helped organize, the Cincinnati School Board disciplined him.
Which is why he ended up teaching at a private school. Although it is
highly unlikely that he would have gotten that job had he not been a
friend of the headmaster. His reputation was very close to ruined."
The way Sullivan explained it, the incident sounded a
lot more damaging than the ugly contretemps that Cindy had dismissed
as vicious, antigay prejudice.
"Mason was living with Del Cavanaugh at this
time?"
Sullivan nodded. "Yes. Which was another thing
that went against him. The fact that he was then living openly as a
homosexual did not play well in court. Del’s own attitude didn’t
help, either.
He took the position that there would have been
nothing wrong if Mace had been carrying on with the boy, who was no
longer technically a minor. Unfortunately, he took the position
publicly, in front of a TV crew." Sullivan shook his head.
"Del’s asinine like that. He had other problems, too. But he
also had guts. And that’s always something to admire in this world.
His relationship with Mason ended soon after the trial, and I always
thought it was partly because Del felt that Mason hadn’t stuck up
for himself more strongly. Frankly, a number of us felt that way,
given the ridiculousness of the trumped-up charge. It was just
another fag witchhunt, Himsier than most. But later on, it became
obvious to me that Mason simply didn’t have it in him to defend
himself."
"Why was that?" I asked.
Sullivan locked his hands together on the desktop.
"Who can say why? Each of us handles the burden of his identity
in a different way. Mason’s way was to be kind and hope for the
best."
"I talked to Del Cavanaugh this morning. Mason
went to visit him during the week before he killed himself."
Sullivan chewed his lip. "Seeing Del in the
shape he’s in would have been hard for Mason to take."
"I’m sure it rocked him," I said grimly.
"You know Mason had a phobia about AIDS?"
"Cindy told me he was anxious about it."
"This went beyond anxious. When he was with Del,
he had his blood tested every two or three weeks. Terry Mulhane was
Mason’s internist. Maybe you should check with him to see if . . .
there was some recent problem."
The thought had occurred to me. So had the
consequences it might hold for Cindy Dorn—and possibly for me. Like
everyone else in the world, I was wary of AIDS. I wasn’t phobic
about it, as Mason Greenleaf had been. But after a decade
Given what had happened in the Washington Hotel,
there was no disputing his point, although I had the sure feeling
that, like Del Cavanaugh, Ira Sullivan was one of those men who
wasn’t content unless everyone else in the world came down with it,
too. If he had it in his power, he would sow doubt like a plague.
"You asked me before, if I’d ever represented
him as a lawyer," Sullivan went on. "The answer is yes. Six
years ago when he was arrested."
"For soliciting."
"That was the charge," the man said,
looking back at me. "The actual crime, if you want to call it
that, was somewhat more complex. Mason took a personal interest in
one of his students. And the boy, who was eighteen years old at the
time, returned his affection. In spite of the fact that there was no
physical contact between them at any time, the boy’s father brought
charges of solicitation and indecent carriage."
"The charges were dropped?"
"Not dropped, but substantially reduced. Mason
was ordered into mandatory counseling. It would have been much worse
if the police department had prevailed upon the boy to testify. But,
of course, there was nothing to testify about. They had never been
intimate. They had only been friends. The sole evidence in the case
was some letters Mason had written, expressing his compassion for the
young man, who was then having a hard time in his life. The father
found them and assumed the worst. Mason’s real crime was showing
bad judgment. In spite of a massive letter-writing campaign, which I
helped organize, the Cincinnati School Board disciplined him.
Which is why he ended up teaching at a private school. Although it is
highly unlikely that he would have gotten that job had he not been a
friend of the headmaster. His reputation was very close to ruined."
The way Sullivan explained it, the incident sounded a
lot more damaging than the ugly contretemps that Cindy had dismissed
as vicious, antigay prejudice.
"Mason was living with Del Cavanaugh at this
time?"
Sullivan nodded. "Yes. Which was another thing
that went against him. The fact that he was then living openly as a
homosexual did not play well in court. Del’s own attitude didn’t
help, either.
He took the position that there would have been
nothing wrong if Mace had been carrying on with the boy, who was no
longer technically a minor. Unfortunately, he took the position
publicly, in front of a TV crew." Sullivan shook his head.
"Del’s asinine like that. He had other problems, too. But he
also had guts. And that’s always something to admire in this world.
His relationship with Mason ended soon after the trial, and I always
thought it was partly because Del felt that Mason hadn’t stuck up
for himself more strongly. Frankly, a number of us felt that way,
given the ridiculousness of the trumped-up charge. It was just
another fag witchhunt, Himsier than most. But later on, it became
obvious to me that Mason simply didn’t have it in him to defend
himself."
"Why was that?" I asked.
Sullivan locked his hands together on the desktop.
"Who can say why? Each of us handles the burden of his identity
in a different way. Mason’s way was to be kind and hope for the
best."
"I talked to Del Cavanaugh this morning. Mason
went to visit him during the week before he killed himself."
Sullivan chewed his lip. "Seeing Del in the
shape he’s in would have been hard for Mason to take."
"I’m sure it rocked him," I said grimly.
"You know Mason had a phobia about AIDS?"
"Cindy told me he was anxious about it."
"This went beyond anxious. When he was with Del,
he had his blood tested every two or three weeks. Terry Mulhane was
Mason’s internist. Maybe you should check with him to see if . . .
there was some recent problem."
The thought had occurred to me. So had the
consequences it might hold for Cindy Dorn—and possibly for me. Like
everyone else in the world, I was wary of AIDS. I wasn’t phobic
about it, as Mason Greenleaf had been. But after a decade
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